The Jack Sparrow We've heard About
by Isabela Puccini
Summary: A completely insane, really fun to write version of how Capp'n Jack got off his spit of land the first time around. Definitely not one of the tall tales we've all heard already. This one is pretty random.


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Disclaimer: I, like countless before me, am only a hopeful dreamer. Don't own the sexy bod we call Jack. I don't even own his hat, or anything like it. Tis a right dreadful shame, I know. Oh well.

A/N: Seriously, this was major fun to write. Like watching the movie, almost. One can only hope people can handle this much scatterbrained nonsense.

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**The Jack Sparrow We've Heard About**

**Subchapter One: Kelp**

"Oy!" Shouted Captain Jack Sparrow as a sharp blade was poked into his backside and he toppled off the plank and into the chilling sea. Even from underwater, the laughter of his crew still could be heard roaring at his splash and at his downfall.  
Angry air bubbles floated out of Jack's mouth as he cursed them and the pistol strapped to his belt. Thankfully, the blindfold Ragetti had tied around his eyes loosened and fell into the oceanic abyss early after he was thrown from _his_ ship. Already, mere seconds after Jack had been thrown from the Black Pearl, the starts of diabolical plans could be seen creeping up on his face.

But evidently, underwater was not the place to stop and think for long periods of time. After gagging and swallowing a few cups of sea water, Jack started his ascent heavenwards, and broke the ocean's surface. An island could be seen some hundred meters away, and so that's where our pirate decided to set off toward. It seemed only logical, after all.

By the time Jack reached sand and shore, his shackles were off. We, uh, failed to see precisely _how_ Jack managed to rid himself of his irons but that, dear audience, isn't the point! He'd reached the shore! And sadly, with it, an unfathomable mass of some dark, tangled, wet, slimy, twisted "something" that encircled the one bit of the island Jack as trying to get to.

"Yelp!" Jack err… _yelped_, as he tried frantically to disentangle his arms and legs from this alien mess of dark green muck.

"Help!" He cried. "Ah! Beast! Sea monster! Wrongdoer! …EVIL PERSON!"  
And then it all dawned on Jack when a mass of his own, wet hair swung around and smacked him in the face. This wasn't an evil person. This, was kelp.

With the knowledge now that the dark green muck all around him was not _intentionally_ murderous, Jack took a deep breath and… walked to shore.

At last, he collapsed onto the white gleaming sand of the island. Long strings of kelp hung from his shoulders, belt, shirt, and ankles. There was kelp sticking to his neck and weaved around his arms and wrists. But the thick of it was entwined in the worst of all places: Jack's hair.

". . .," said Jack, looking murderously at the thin landscape of kelp spread out under the water before him. ". . .," he continued. Until finally he resolved things by saying, ". . . I don't like kelp."

For a few moments he sat there, defeated. But then, his eyes grew wide and familiar and his drunken head swung to stare in one direction, then in another, and then at the sky. He looked behind himself at the brush of tropical palms and blinked, saying, "I think I know this island."

THEN! Jack hopped up from his cozy bit of sand, and started to go around, as if trying to think, muttering madly and tapping one of his gold teeth, brow furrowed in deepest concentration…

HE'S GOT IT! Jack dashed over to the nearest palm, waited a moment, then knocked on the tree trunk and took five steps. He stood, swooning on the spot for a moment before cursing softly, and took one careful step backwards. Jack jumped up and down a few times… AH HAH! He reached flamboyantly to the ground, then flung open a secret cellar door. Jack disappeared into it and from the rectangular chasm was heard a shrill squeal of delight. Seconds later, Jack reappeared. He was barely able to stand under the weight of the bottles in his arms. One of them had had its cork popped already and was tucked securely in Jack's mouth as he chugged unceasingly, kelp falling in a trail as he walked back to his cozy bit of sand…

**Subchapter Two: Pandemonium**

The sun had set and risen once since Jack's first trip into his cache. Here's where we pick up the tale…

Two boots had been placed side by side in the sand close to the shore. Jack sat in deep concentration as he tried to remember which one contained his pistol. It was fine game, to be sure. Especially when the players (:stutter: playe_r_) was exceedingly drunk and proud of it.

On that subject, close to two dozen empty bottles lay scattered around Jack. It was an all-time record, for his part, but he wasn't in any state to realize this fact as he was far too busy struggling to stay awake. One eyelid slid down slowly … then flew back up again. The other eyelid slid down even slower… then flew back up again. Another fine game, but nothing that would last long.

So, when Jack had regained consciousness, and had everything to gain including his commonsense and a massive migraine, he set about his escape. Those diabolical plans he'd been cleverly formulating back in the shadow of the Black Pearl were at last coming back to him. It was only a matter of which plan to choose. Sadly, all of his schemes would only become reality provided that Jack GOT OFF HIS ISLAND. Leaving that cache, and the rum, and his life as a drunk on the beach… not appealing, but possibly one of those life-saving decisions we come across now and again.

The choice was made. He was going to leave.

Jack stood up and proceeded to walk in an unsteady circle while he realized that he might die on his lovely Rum Island. Lots of jumbled yelling, cursing, kicking of sand, and tormented sniffles that couldn't possibly have meant tears ensued. None of them, however, improved the situation. The point title of the subchapter has officially been "made," I think.

"I see death," Jack finally said to himself, and he collapsed back onto his most common stretch of sand.

And our drunken hero would have given up all hope, had it not been for what he saw next…

**Subchapter Three: Slug**

Jack saw his savior crawling along the side of one of his many, many rum bottles. Now, unbeknownst to the viewers of the Pirates of the Caribbean: the Curse of the Black Pearl ( a delightfully informative documentary broadcasted by the "Discovery Channel" some time in the summer of 2003), Jack Sparrow had kept an impressive collection of belt buckles as a child. Now, with the knowledge that slugs and belt buckles haven't a thing in common, that author readily writes that Jack also had a collection of various… scientific textbooks? Yes! Scientific textbooks of a university level! Ha-HA! _Well_, seeing as people had a lot of free time back then (and _now_ then, come to think of it), it's sort of a given that Jack must have read some of the books in his scientific textbook collection and, argo, learnt a few things from them. Things such as… how the slime of a single slug would ignite if mixed with the right amount of sea water and fairy dust, and how that flame, if blown out by a person on Valentine's Day, would give the blower-outer the ability to teleport to anywhere they can imagine _once_ and only _once_. That's true, you know. Every word of it.

Anyway, guess what Jack just happened to have his pocket (:cough: fairy dust :cough:) and guess what day it also just _happened_ to be (:cough: flipping Valentine's Day :cough:)?

He was saved! Several memory straining minutes later, Jack was blowing out the three-foot bonfire his slug slime concoction had created. And what happened next? Some very cool Computer Graphic Imaging (CGI), that's what! Jack knew he had the power to teleport, but he also knew he'd be able to do this (say it with me, kids) _once_ and only _once_. Right. So. There was really only one place on Jack's mind. Only one place worth going to. Only _one_ place he'd loved to walk the friendly streets of everyday if only given the chance…

"Turtle in spanish," Jack whispered to himself in such a dramatic way that many people thought he'd made sense for a moment.

But before those people had time to go and look up the vocabulary words they were left out of, the CGI had taken effect. A mass of oogily-googily, pink, Tinker Bell sparkles started fizzing up around Jack. Shocked and genuinely frightened by this new alien form of super-girly, Valentine's Day prettiness, Jack frantically swatted at the glittery stuff, trying to kill them all like misquotes. But soon the pretty pinkness was too much even for Jack's frantically swatting hands and he was engulfed in a thick cloud until the captain was nothing but a tornado of cherry, crimson, red glitteries ( making up words is a second hobby).

And when the cloud finally disbanded, the man was gone. He had left his island. _Probably_ never to return. Not to say that it was impossible…

THE END


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